#pls no dirt naps | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peskellence · 6 months ago

Text

Rule Of Nines

Betrayal Pt. 2

Explicit content, Graphic Violence

(18+)

Pairing: Reed900

Tags: AU, Multi-Chapter, Lovers to Enemies, Kidnapping, Crime and Violence, Oral, Anal, Dom/ Sub

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: In a world where loyalty is currency and compromise is weakness, Gavin Reed, a ruthless mobster, lives by his own rules. When an old enemy resurfaces with a deadly demand, his life is thrown into chaos-as his trusted second-in-command, Nines, is put to the ultimate test of allegiance. Will he stay committed to Gavin, or will the loyal guard dog begin to stray? (Human Mob!AU)

Warnings: Major Character Death (before events of the story), Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Dubious Consent

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @ladyj-pl @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel

If you would like to be added to the tag list for future projects, please let me know♡

It took until sundown for Gavin to realise that Nines wasn't coming back. The wait persisted well beyond this, extending into the night. There were no calls, progress checks, or even the slightest indication to suggest the man was still breathing. Just dead air on the radio. Continual, droning vacancy.

His second in command had never done this—would have never dreamed of it before today. Clearly, he had gotten held up wading through the mountainous shit expelled during his recent temper tantrum. No doubt wallowing around like a despondent pig. One that just found out its sibling was being turned into bacon.

Maybe that was where he'd scurried off to. Charging headfirst into DeLuca's hideout on a misguided suicide mission to save his brother. The thought alone would've made Gavin laugh had it not inspired such bitter resentment.

Best of luck with that, dickhead.

Salvatore hardly ran a prestige operation, but he wasn't stupid. He and his boys would be waiting for them, armed to the fucking teeth. As soon as they realised Connor's 'saviour' had arrived empty-handed, it'd be open season in the abattoir.

Nines was good, but he wasn't made of kevlar and steel. When a man came faced with a hail of bullets, the bullets were going to win. No matter his physical prowess, he'd be hosting his family reunion six feet under the ground.

Gavin cursed under his breath, his head lolling against the pillows as his eyes squeezed shut. The sweat beading on his brow started to trickle lower, charting a course down the bridge of his nose.

Instead of bottling his frustration, he attempted to refocus its energy into current licentious activities. The movements of his hand quickened as he brusquely dismissed concerns of doubt or culpability.

If Nines was taking an extended dirt nap, it would be the fault of his own stupidity. A fitting penance for allowing sentiment to cloud his better judgment.

Bleeding hearts had no place in the miserable shit they dealt with. If that lesson had been learned the hard way, so be it. Hopefully, it would serve as a reminder for the next dolt Gavin let slither under his sheets: Do not step out of line unless you're ready to face the consequences.

His mind was bubbling over, hissing like a tea kettle, as he released a barrage of insults at a currently imagined Nines:

You selfish, ungrateful piece of shit.

Entitled, pompous asshole —

He missed him.

The bed felt unbearably empty, as did every attempt to fill the void. His body howled with need, seeking a carnal depravity that no amount of self-indulgence could hope to satisfy.

Maybe he ought to have hired the hooker. At least then, he could have secured the feeling of something . An opportunity to escape through the forgiving darkness of tightly closed eyes, where he could imagine the floundering mass on top of him belonged to someone else…

He plunged deeper into himself, arching back as far as he could in pursuit of greater leverage. It would have still been better than condemning himself to the current arrangement of listlessly gripped hand and equally sad rubber stand-in.

His toes curled from added exertion as he hissed in what he tried to convince himself was some degree of pleasure. If he continued to tell himself that, perhaps the sensation would manifest. The 'fake it til you make it' principle: like it was a goddamn job interview.

The movements continued as he abandoned his hardness in favour of running a hand up the length of his torso. His remaining fist grew increasingly agitated, anger permeating every mite of the increasingly rough pumps.

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

There was a knock at the door, ending the ill-fated venture with a sudden jolt of paralysis. Gavin gawked at his ceiling, trying to confirm—somewhat hopefully—if he was hearing things. Then it happened again, prompting him to reach over and study his phone's lock screen.

It informed that the time was 3:07 A.M., leading to the conclusion that this style of intrusion was getting extremely old.

Shooting up, he removed Nines' lacklustre understudy from his body. He craned himself towards the door, boring holes into the surface of the already beaten-up wood, his mouth snarling in an uncanny mimicry of a feral dog:

"What the fuck do you want?"

There was no reply save for a steady—and entirely undeterred—pace of knocks.

You can't be serious.

After tucking his shame securely into the bottom drawer of his nightstand, he ripped away the scant covering of his sheets. Whoever the mystery arrival was, they clearly wanted to play games—ones that the mobster was in no mood to be joining.

Either that or their appearance formed some style of divine intervention. The Big Man upstairs, tenuously apologising for all the recent smites in the form of a squishy sandbag on which to offload his grievances.

Whoever the person was, they were persistent. Refusing to let up on the incessant pounding for even a second despite having aired him just moments prior.

Gavin wrestled with a pair of boxers, attempting to wrangle them over the prominent hardness between his thighs. They were lucky he even did that much—in half a mind to answer the door butt-ass naked, making exposure to his trouser snake part of the karmic retribution.

"Do I need to put opening hours on my goddamn door?" he suggested bitingly, as the fervance of his movements resulted in a small tear of fabric. "It's the middle of the fucking night, what is wrong with you people?"

To their credit, there was likely some underlying motivation behind the visit. Given how desperately the unknown figure sought to grab his attention—and the fact he'd made it clear that 'Connor Torture Porn' didn't constitute an emergency—it was probably something serious.

Assuming Nines hadn't managed to get his brother mulched, they still had a few hours before DeLuca took care of business. That being said, it wouldn't have surprised him if Connor had decided to croak ahead of schedule.

The man had been in bad shape during his last on-screen appearance, barely clinging to whatever life was left to live after being gutted and carved worse than a grade-schoolers jack-o'-lantern.

Honestly, news of his untimely death was probably the only thing that could temper his current foul mood…

Swinging the door open, he prepared to lambast whatever slack-jawed goon was bumbling around behind it. Upon seeing who it was, his mouth went dry, and his snarled lips clamped shut.

"I'm sorry, Gavin, I know it's late." The words lingered on their tongue, chasing each delicate curl of the muscle. "I hope I didn't wake you."

…Well. Except for maybe that.

Nines stood in the archway, arm extended above his head, propped against the lip. He loomed over Gavin, simpering gently and exuding a stunning degree of confidence for someone who had just played hooky for the past fourteen hours.

Unfortunately, his current appearance made it extremely difficult for Gavin to stay pissed off. Nines had ditched much of the zombie chic he'd adopted over the week, taming the hair that had been clinging listlessly to his scalp. It was now washed and combed, pulled into its usual slicked-back style. The unsightly stubble that had started to bloom across his jaw had also been trimmed, made more apparent as he jutted it forward.

The movement was undoubtedly calculated as it rumpled the collar of his loosely draped trench coat. Sleek leather caught conspicuously against the lights above, encouraging his gaze to trail lower…

Oh, I see how it is. Sneaky son of a bitch.

While the garment wasn't short, on the lofty man filling the doorway, it might as well have been lingerie. The hem barely covered his thighs, revealing svelte lengths of smooth, marble-white. The tenuously secured belt slackened with every twitch, causing the material to part and reveal a growing sliver of torso.

If the legs weren't already a tip-off, this seemed to prove irrefutably that Nines wasn't wearing a lot underneath the jacket. If he was wearing anything at all.

The notion alone sent Gavin's mind into a pronounced tailspin—and while he was aware his second-in-command was still speaking, it might as well have been French. Words were leaving his mouth, but absolutely none of them were being processed.

He attempted to downplay his interest with an inward press of his thighs as he strategically tilted his body towards an adjacent wall.

"Look who's decided to drag themselves outta the gutter…" He feigned indifference with a click of his tongue; all the while, his arousal twitched insistently between his legs. "Where the hell have you been, jackass?"

Whatever conversational threads had led Nines to this question remained a mystery. In any case, his response was flawless—smooth and candid, deftly withholding any sentiment:

"Wrapping up affairs at the docks. It took longer than anticipated; I had to take care of a few witnesses."

This was a lie.

All other men who had attended to the incident returned hours ago, ensuring any and all 'annoyances' were dealt with briskly. Despite this, the questionable statement almost demanded belief, in line with every stoic recount the man had ever delivered…

Whether it was genuinely convincing, or his ungodly degree of horniness was warping his judgment, Gavin wasn't sure. All he knew was that his libido was screaming for him to let it go. To tug Nines by the crotch across the threshold so he could stop spewing mundane excuses and start pounding him into the mattress.

But he couldn't do that—because he was angry—and trying to make a point of not rewarding bad behaviour. Folding his arms across his chest, he maintained his outward scepticism despite all internal protest.

Just when he thought Nines might have the balls to proceed with his current deception, the focus shifted to the elephant doing handstands in the back of the room.

"...I needed some time to think." The playful expression faltered in line with his stiffening posture. He glanced over Gavin's shoulder, eyes fixed on the bed. "If you could let me in, we can discuss things more privately."

As he leaned in, a smooth brush of skin came tantalisingly close to the shorter man's cheek. Cologne trailed the deft movements, igniting his senses, as a chin gently skimmed his shoulder. The touch was featherlight, and it could have easily been missed if Gavin hadn't been so keenly aware of everything Nines was doing.

His ulterior motive was painfully brazen; it might as well have been illuminated on a neon sign above his head. Such an abrupt and shameless shift back to their usual routine, it was fucking hysterical.

Because what did Nines know about privacy? He clearly wasn't opposed to attracting some attention, given his current attire. He would've had to pass through the meeting room like that, no doubt crossing paths with several lingering night owls.

Perhaps he'd wanted to get a rise. To imagine at least one of their cohorts had gotten desperate enough where they might be amenable to the idea of bending him over the card table—

Gavin's mind began to run wild, chasing all manner of depravity his twisted imagination could conjure. He forced himself to rein it in, swallowing back the dense lump forming in his throat.

He then clicked his tongue in feigned indifference, his crossed arms locking tighter over his chest. Unable to help himself, or perhaps out of habit, he made a point of flexing forward—puffing his chest and calling attention to the toned definition of his limbs.

"What exactly do you wanna 'discuss'? You're being awfully vague right now."

Nines' attention flitted downward, a quirked eyebrow the only crack in his otherwise stony veneer. He gave nothing else away, his response measured and enigmatic.

"I took some time to remind myself what is important, to determine where my loyalties lie..." His gaze returned to Gavin's face as piercing eyes studied his features. A rogue spark ignited beneath them, completely indecipherable. "Now that I have done this, I think it is time to make amends."

His leg shifted, and the coat followed suit—coming dangerously close to revealing the junction between his thighs. If it were a robe, Gavin was confident Nines would be twirling the tie in circles, teasing him further.

He was showing off, so sure in his conceit that he could play his boss like an upright bass.

This assumption was correct, obviously, but that didn't stop Gavin from being incensed with the mutinous bastard he called his dick. Fearing it might spring off without immediate attention, he obliged the request through gritted teeth.

"Get in."

As Nines entered the room, it became apparent that 'talking' had factored little into plans for their exchange. His subordinate slammed the door behind him before skillfully switching their positions and pinning Gavin against it.

The handle pressed into the small of his back, as he was all but moulded onto it. He couldn't give less of a shit—feeling utterly giddy, mind reeling, as it ignited with vibrant bursts of excitement.

Then Nines kissed him—biting, wrenching, capturing flesh between his teeth and mercilessly pulling back. Gavin could taste the warm copper pooling in his mouth, and it may as well have been syrup because nothing had ever tasted so sweet in his entire fucking life.

As a streak dribbled down his chin, he roughly shoved Nines away. Passion tempering long enough to recall what had brought them to their current frenzied encounter.

"You're going to have to put in some serious fucking effort if you expect me to forgive you." Crimson specks propelled from his lips as he wiped them with the back of his hand. "Don't think you can shove your tongue down my throat and expect bygones to be bygones."

"Of course not," Nines hummed. His lust-filled voice was irresistibly rich, purred like auditory velvet against his pulsing neck. "I have every intention of showing you just how sorry I am…"

Gavin was lost immediately. His bravado deflated as he slumped against the other man's hold, hopelessly ensnared. A rush of endorphins prickled his skin, in line with the indulgent nips being dotted across it.

The raging pulse in his boxers grew even more apparent, straining the material in a way that proved impossible to ignore. It pressed against Nines' leg, and he rutted forward shamelessly, desperate for friction.

He wasn't left neglected for long. As his subordinate continued to tease his neck, he reached a hand into his boxers—brushing the concealed length with the same fluid motions. He traced it with the tips of his fingers before applying more targeted pressure, forcing it down with the heel of his palm.

"How about I start with taking care of this?"

Gavin winced under the touch, resisting the sharp yelp pressing at his lips. His companion took this as a challenge. Stopping shy of using fingers to prise them open, he opted to coax the cry with steadily increased weight.

Pain stormed sensitive nerves, testing the bounds of his tolerance, as Gavin's hands balled into fists. They secured themselves into his jacket, clawing at the material in a frenzied attempt to strip it away.

He wanted to feel Nines—all of him—and was becoming increasingly agitated by the barrier preventing this.

The rigid flesh of his arousal continued to be forced back until it rested flush against his pelvis. Anguish had started to wind him, making it difficult to hold himself upright.

"The hell are you doing?" Gavin growled in protest as his physical resistance started to wane. He then doubled over, drenched in sweat and panting madly as though he'd just completed a marathon. "Touch me, you sadistic asshole."

"I believe you'll find I already am," Nines rebuked, emphasising the point in line with the pitiless force of his hand. "If you stop squirming, I'll gladly give you precisely what you want."

"I'm only squirming because you keep—"

The sentence was aborted as Nines' fingers contributed to the evolving barbarity. Nails brushed the underside of his arm before digging into it, creating a series of harsh grooves.

Gavin was unable to hold back the screams he had been fighting so hard to suppress. As much as he enjoyed the rough play, even he had his limits—and feeling like his dick was caught between a blender and a hydraulic press was cutting it pretty fine. Before he could protest, however, a stern voice interjected:

"Don't tell me what you do," it stipulated, more warning than suggestion. "Not when we're like this. Isn't that the arrangement?"

Gavin's mouth flapped open, desperate to argue, until he found himself unable to form anything coherent.

Well. You've got me there.

This was extremely annoying, given the satisfaction Nines seemed to garner from the implicit confirmation. The current power shift was being indulged a little too profoundly, beyond the expectations of their usual salacious roleplay.

He wasn't left to dwell on this long, as without warning, the oppressive force of Nines' palm relinquished. It was replaced by a gentler hold as neatly wound fingers enclosed his tortured flesh.

Relief washed over him, overwhelming and immediate, as the small bursts of light that peppered his vision burst into flames. He flung his head back, groaning deeply, as Nines moved his hand in well-practiced motions.

There had been no lie in his promise to deliver. The strokes came with sinful finesse—applied with flawless strength and precision, adjusting to his responses as though Nines had a direct line to his brain.

It was delicious in its familiarity. Exactly how Gavin wanted it, the way it was supposed to be.

Any bout of insanity that had gripped his subordinate was coming to an end, assuring him it would not inhibit the enjoyment they were about to share. Nines had remembered who he was—and what they were together.

At some point, his boxers had been removed, left abandoned at his feet. With unfettered access, a thumb was flicked across his tip, tracing the slit in a languid stripe. The effect was addicting, a greater high than any drug he'd ever experienced. He wanted more, pleaded for it, as he fisted a hand into the back of Nines' hair, using it to anchor himself.

After a few more teasing trails, Nines re-established his grip. His hand moved in measured pumps, gradually increasing the pace. Gavin whined helplessly, bucking forward in a feverish attempt to maximise the friction.

He chased the movement with his hips as his desire grew progressively brazen. Culminating with meticulously styled strands wound around his fingers, tugged back in line with a moan—

The motions stopped as the delicious winch gripping him was unceremoniously removed. Before he had a chance to question this, he was shoved away, striking the door with a dull thud.

"Get on the bed," Nines ordered, as darkened eyes trained his superior with predatory focus. If the look wasn't enough, he clarified the gravity of his demand with a curt: "Now."

Gavin shuddered, less from the tone and more from the sudden loss of heat. An unpleasant chill nipped at his arousal, but rather than bemoan the shitty insulation in his room, he decided the more constructive approach was to do as instructed. Which he did without any concern for pride or shame.

Twisting around, he stumbled back on quivering legs until his calves struck the edge of the bed. He promptly collapsed against it, allowing himself to become engulfed in a tangled mass of sheets.

He'd barely had a chance to settle before Nines made his advance. Discarding his coat with a decisive shrug, he positioned himself at Gavin's dangling legs before firmly wrenching them apart.

Fuck yes.

Nines then slid between the opening, sinking to his knees—maintaining a distinct air of control despite the submissive position. Grabbing the other man's quads, he manoeuvred them over his head before planting them securely on his shoulders. His grip lingered, digging into the skin with possessive fervour as his head began to lower.

The heat returned as a tongue swept across the bottom of his swollen length. Gavin attempted to crane himself forward in order to secure a better view of the beguiling show unfolding in front of him.

And damn, what a show it was. Nines repeated the movement, lapping his cock in gliding stripes. His mouth was agape, revealing an expanse of velvety pink walls. Trails of moisture coated his companion's skin, brushing at charged nerves which tingled appreciatively.

All the while, he stared at him. Grey eyes bore intensely, refusing to relent for even a second.

They fit perfectly with his face, complementing the rest of his sharp features to a near-inhuman degree of perfection. His defined cheeks hollowed further as he captured the swollen tip, suckling firmly.

"Oh my fucking god ." The mobster struggled to string together anything more coherent as the cavern of warmth lowered, claiming him greedily. Nines moved slowly, inch by inch, until the erection struck the back of his throat.

Gavin was in ecstasy, washed away by a rising tide of pleasure. He rode it greedily until the resulting delirium knocked him back, unable to stay upright. Nines set an excruciating rhythm, pulling away almost completely before thrusting back down with a subtle gag. His tongue swirled around the hardness, exploring every pore, combined with a gentle graze of teeth.

The sensation was indescribable, making Gavin realise just how deluded he'd been to think he could find even a modicum of the same pleasure with anyone else—'seasoned professional' or not.

If a night with a hooker was a cheap motel, being with Nines was like a trip to the Ritz. Opulence that couldn't be replicated, providing the exact level of attentive worship his body craved.

"Yes—that's it," he praised keenly. His eyes balled shut as he dared once again to run digits amorously through silky brown locks. Hips bucked forward, goading desperately, as he sought an increased pace.

To his surprise, Nines permitted this, relinquishing some of his circumstantial control so he may seek to satisfy his needs. There was no delay in doing this as Gavin made full use of his mouth. Assaulting it with spearing thrusts, pounding against the spongy foundation with reckless abandon.

His companion spluttered around the intrusion, struggling for air. This failed to deter his efforts. If anything, it spurred him on. He arched upward, plunging deeper, as he riveted their head in place.

Pressure built in his gut as his arousal twitched and swelled, signalling imminent release. No consideration was made to warn Nines—and with a final, quivering buck, his passion spilt over. Filling his mouth in thick ribbons, until the excess started to dribble from the corners of his mouth.

"Goddamn..." Gavin sighed, teasing out a final, shallow thrust before his length began to soften. He flung an arm to the crease of his brow, wiping at a dense film of perspiration as he struggled to catch his breath. "Better late than never, I guess."

Nines hummed distantly, ignoring the jab as he pulled himself upright. He then flicked a thumb across his lips, removing the salty traces. "Are you feeling satisfied?"

The man knew damn well that he wasn't. He never was after a single round, two or three being their established minimum. Still, his companion never missed a chance to tease him over his salacious insatiability.

There wasn't a chance he'd be letting Nines dip before the main event, under any circumstances.

"Hell no." He scoffed, somewhat amenable to the playfulness but maintaining an distinct undercurrent of demand. "If that's all you're planning on giving me, I'm going to fucking riot."

His companion nodded, expression unshifting in a way that might suggest to a less seasoned lover that he simply wasn't interested. There was, however, a distinct glint of intent mingled in his hardened gaze, betraying his intentions.

He wasn't done, either. Not by any stretch.

Splayed palms planted firmly to either side of the mattress. Nines soon accompanied them, inching himself across the sheets until he had formed an animate cage around Gavin. The steady rise and fall of his chest synced with the fanning of blanketing breath, boasting unshakeable dominance.

"I thought you might say that."

One of the hands steadily lifted, running across the entrapped man's face. It trailed the fleshy canvas, assessing stubble and dotted scars before drawing back to strike them, painting a vivid streak of red.

"Move yourself up," he demanded, with all the composure of someone well-seasoned in using violence as an incentive. "Towards the wall."

It didn't take an expert to see where things were heading, and Gavin was no less than ecstatic. He dutifully complied, sidling up the length of the bed until he was just below the headboard.

"Lift your arms."

Anticipation gripped him in dreamlike delirium as his spent arousal twitched, excitement renewing. Nines had not joined him yet, reaching beneath the bed in order to grab something.

He had a pretty good idea what, and it only caused the excitement to mount.

There had always been too many 'supplies' to fit in the nightstand alone, with this now relegated to solo enjoyment—but in the time they'd been doing this, the collection had grown substantially, amassed in several containers.

This one was his personal favourite. A small leather box secured with a clasp, which Nines clicked open with a neat flick. The sound met his ears at blissful resonance, and it was a struggle to keep his arms up as the muscles began to quiver restlessly.

Then Nines pulled out the rope, wrapped together in tightly bound coils. He started to unwind it until a section was held between his hands. It was flexed testingly before being pulled taut, the fibres straining audibly, creaking under his powerful hold. Gavin felt his mouth go dry.

"Don't move."

This command was completely redundant. There wasn't a chance of him going anywhere. Not in a million years.

As he was strung to the bed, wrists bound by braided cord, Nines handled him with practised precision. Each stroke of his palm and brush of his fingertips was carefully planned, designed to elicit a response. The act of tying him up alone felt better than half of the ill-fated fumbles he'd had in his twenties.

Hardly aggressive competition, nor was it particularly surprising.

No one else knew his body like this, had ever bothered to learn—or even put in the effort to try. There was only Nines, with no other comparison that could possibly be drawn.

If he were being honest with himself, the depth of the other man's feelings had been obvious for quite some time—but Gavin had always overlooked it, adopting a philosophy of selective blindness.

Because he didn't want to confront that, to risk ruining all of this. It was the closest to Heaven he'd ever get, and he didn't want it to end…

Oh shit.

I missed him.

"You're being so good for me," Nines praised, promptly derailing his bleak introspection. "So obedient—"

The crisis was forgotten, as the ends of the rope were hooked through a rickety metal grate before being pulled back. He made it look incredibly easy, still finding time to tease his companion throughout the process. He secured both arms, followed by legs, as he rushed his body with a series of suckles, kisses and bites—all he could think of to get a rise.

"Now, continue to behave yourself and keep still." He returned attention to Gavin's face, positioning himself at the crook of his neck as he nibbled at his ear. "I don't want you wriggling away, not with what I intend to do to you."

The promise was drizzled decadently, passing the shell and running in streams down the sensitive canal. It clogged his senses, deafening him to anything else.

Gavin arched back as far as his restraints would reasonably permit, groaning shamelessly as he did so. "Do it quicker, you asshole," he snapped, levelling the man with an accusatory glare. "Whatever you want, I don't give a shit."

Nines pulled back momentarily, regarding him with a bemused expression. His eyebrows were raised as he huffed gently through twitching lips.

Then, without warning, a hand was brought across his face again. It moved harder this time, the resultant imprint burrowing into him like white-hot needles.

Gavin howled before the noise was forcefully halted. His cheeks were captured in the grip of the unforgiving hand, its thumb and fingers closing in until his lips were crushed together.

"Just remember, this is what you asked for." The twitch on Nines' mouth persisted until the corner curled upward, forming a subtle smirk. "It is going to be an extremely gratifying experience; I guarantee it."

He slipped away, ending the degradation as unceremoniously as it had begun. Dipping back into the box, he rummaged through its contents until he secured a small, silken scarf. He held it up to the light as though to show it off before the glow was quickly extinguished.

The cloth was wrapped around Gavin's eyes and secured in a tight bow. There was no care to ensure comfort; the knot anchored against his hair, catching several strands. Nines pressed down on his face to secure his leverage, pinching lids and ripping lashes in the process.

"Tell me, do you still want this?"

It wasn't really a question. Before Gavin could even think of responding, hands were running in parallel lines down his chest. They traversed lower, passing his abdomen until they nestled on the protruding bones of his pelvis. The man traced them in enticing circles but refused to fan inwards—much to his dismay.

He more than wanted it. He needed it, with every inch of his being crying out in primal desire.

Despite this, he was powerless to speak, the words snatched from his increasingly barren throat. He instead settled for a whine; lips parted desperately. A parched man pleading for water.

Nines seemed to accept this as an answer. In spite of his blindness, Gavin knew he was watching closely—evident by the continuous beat of puffs assaulting his face.

"Remember what I said. Keep still. If you don't, I may be forced to do something drastic."

The weight of his domineering presence diminished, coinciding with the release of pressure on the mattress. His subordinate was gone for some time, amplifying the tension to a maddening degree as he struggled to control his increasingly ragged breaths…

The build-up lost its excitement as he grew impatient.

His whines transitioned into frustrated groans, and his body squirmed against the covers, craving the attention being cruelly withheld.

"What the fuck is the holdup?" he eventually complained, attempting to reposition his pulsing wrists. The dig of the binds no longer felt gratifying, rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. "Seriously, how hard can it be to pick something to smack me around with?"

Then he heard it.

The metallic click of a magazine sliding into place, followed shortly by the frigid touch of steel being pressed to his forehead:

"I'm sorry, Gavin, but I don't think I'll be listening to you anymore."

The world paused, holding its breath. A rush of blood flooded his ears, drowning out all other sounds, as his heart hammered against his ribs—ramping to a bruising pace as realisation began to sink in.

Gavin Reed, you fucking idiot.

After all the self-imposed chiding for letting trust go too far, for allowing too much leniency, he'd still let Nines walk him into such an obvious trap.

"... Dirty. Conniving. Double-crossing. Bastard ." The words were spat in embittered fragments, too mangled by rage to boast any structure. "You really are just like your brother, aren't you? I should've known, should have seen it sooner."

"I remain loyal to those who prove deserving." His voice was cold and unyielding, in line with the barrel against his flesh. "You've given me no other choice."

"Bullshit ! " Gavin bellowed, growing increasingly incensed, as molten speckles propelled from his mouth. "You could have chosen me , you son of a bitch! After everything Dad did for you, after everything I've done for you—"

"And I could have had what, exactly?" The other man snapped back. "A lie that continues to be perpetuated? Some fallacy that I matter to you?"

"Oh, boo-hoo , poor little baby." The jeer came with a mocking tremor of his lower lip as he proceeded to wrestle wildly against his restraints. "We already went through this jackass. I never lied; I told you exactly what this was. It's not my fault if you got your wires crossed."

The barrel was pressed harder against his head, forming a deep-set groove. At the same time, the weapon trembled as though the wielder was being trounced by a sudden rush of hesitancy.

Gavin was forced to wait like an old dog being taken out behind the farmhouse. Held in limbo as its owner debated on whether to go through with the act. It was a humiliating, demeaning role, one that he resented deeply.

So he decided to flip the script, leaning further into the muzzle, practically mounting it to his temple. He felt strangely calm as he did so, his adrenaline pumping, providing a steadily increasing numbness. "If you're going to shoot me, then go ahead. What the hell are you waiting for?"

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating but simultaneously fueling his resolve. He revelled in his renewed control, drawing from it a warped satisfaction before goading his assailant further.

"Seeing as you're jerking around, you may as well take off the blindfold." The suggestion came as a saccharine taunt punctuated by a humourless cackle. "Look me in the eyes while you blow my fucking brains out."

The captive's heart continued to pound, echoing in the hush of the room. His adrenaline was starting to taper, turning to apprehension before creeping into fear. He refused to let this show, as his jaw hardened in bitter defiance, all the while bracing for the worst.

It was too late to go back—and if the worst did happen, at least it would be over quickly. He wouldn't be forced to endure the continued sting of Nines' monumental betrayal.

Then, with a sudden jerk, the blindfold was ripped away. His vision was blurred momentarily as it attempted to re-adjust to the murky light. Once the haze cleared, he was able to see his face.

Grey eyes were glazed with immeasurable pain, focus lost to detached longing. It was as if he were imagining a whole other life, separate from the bleak fate assigned to them. A future that would never exist, breaking apart and crashing around him in striking detail.

Tears started to roll down his cheeks as his stricken face crumpled with anguish. His breath hitched, and with a laboured shudder, Nines lowered the pistol.

Gavin watched as he wept, grappling with the undoubtedly boundless weight of his lost pride and shattered yearning…

Until laughter rumbled in his chest—before bursting from his lips, loud and unrepressed. It was partly out of relief but mostly borne of spite, as he barked in the traitor's defeated face.

Struck by a sense of marked vindication, he gleefully twisted a knife into the mangled remains of his spirit:

"I knew you couldn't do it. You might act like tough shit, Nolan, but deep down, you're weak . Guess you can't help that, though—it runs in your blood."

The defamation seemed enough to snap Nines from his despaired stupor, renewing his anger tenfold. His eyes bulged wide, flooded by loathing, as any tenderness he may have held for the man as part of his fantasies promptly disintegrated. It was replaced with something decidedly sinister—as he carved the flesh from his bones with the serrated edge of his stare.

"You are not worth the energy it would take to end your miserable life."

Then, as quickly as it emerged, the rush of emotion was gone. Rising from the bed, he retrieved the discarded coat from the floor before calmly slipping it on. After securing the belt and levelling the creases in the rumpled material, he smoothly turned away.

Despite how exposed he still remained, there was a pronounced air of indifference about him. A cruel detachment that was undoubtedly dignified, as much as Gavin loathed to admit.

"I don't need to do anything to you." His level tones demonstrated a disquieting lack of humanity as his focus honed on the nearby door. "They'll do it for me."

He cleared his throat, glaring at the weathered panel with silent demand until it steadily creaked open. Shadows shifted in the hallway, lining in wait before the rest of the family started to emerge through the threshold. A poisonous atmosphere surrounded them, exacerbated as sights trained on their boss.

With decisive confirmation that his second-in-command was far from the only backstabber in his ranks, Gavin felt his stomach sink—newly replenished confidence dwindling at an alarming rate. He was reminded of his current position and how woefully unequipped he was to defend himself from the pronounced physical onslaught approaching.

Nines showed no sympathy as he coolly stepped around the men, striding for the exit. This was until he reached the doorway, where he lingered longer than necessary. Gripping at the fraught wood, a few of the mindless drones began to look over, presumably awaiting further instruction.

With a sharp squeeze, splinters ripping into the tender rise of his palm, he did just that. Issuing a final command before disappearing from view, not so much as glancing back:

"Keep him alive."

#dbh #detroit become human #reed900 #dbh nines #dbh gavin #dbh rk900 #dbh fanfiction #dbh fanfic #gavin reed x rk900 #gavin900 #dbh fic #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900

18 notes · View notes

days-until-burnout · 3 months ago

Note

ohh pokemon! how about joel with an axew? he'd 100% have a haxorus as his main pokemon! :D love the au concept

i am being enabled on this au. it haunts me now. also! axew line looks like a good option for joel. not sure if it'll stick (i havent really decided final teams or anything, so feel free to throw options), but here it is! pls excuse the janky battle. my brain is not functioning _____

📧 Day 49 -

Characters - Jimmy & Joel Words - 676 Time - 30 mins Content - Pokemon AU (Part 1)

“Axew, scratch!”

“Defense curl!”

Joel’s expression quickly sours as his eyes go beyond the arena, across to where Jimmy stands, a wreck of nerves on two legs. He blinks back to the battle, a growl in the back of his throat echoing as Axew scratches the now curled up Miltank. It tries from a couple angles, a growing frustration on its face as his. There is a mantle of translucent blue around Miltank, one Axew cannot get through, and it drives both of them mad.

“Really?!”

“Growl, Miltank!”

“Axew, leer!”

Miltank uncurls as Axew steps back, both on their back legs, executing their moves quickly. There is a gush of cold air that emanates from them, rushing outwards against the boys’ skin. Jimmy shivers on the other side of the battle ground, and Joel is two seconds from fist-fighting his bestfriend. This is Jimmy’s idea, the least he could do is put a front or something. Miltank like Jimmy cowers back. Axew shakes the shivers away, huffing as it prepares to attack.

“Axew, scratch!”

The dragon runs with a war cry, the claws on its right paw lighting up as they sharpen. It dashes at Miltank harshly, then another scratch and another until it rolls up and away. In front of Jimmy, probably low on HP now, and possibly about to faint if Jimmy does not make his decision.

“Axew—”

“Roll out!”

“—evade!”

In a blink, Miltank is rolling towards Axew, a trail of dust flying up. Joel, like Axew, fixate on the pink ball, waiting, waiting—

“Now!”

At his order, Axew jumps up and time seems to slow down as Miltank slows, looking up with wide eyes.

“Scratch, now!”

Axew leans forward and falls head first, raising an arm, its claws seemingly cutting up the air as it falls. Gravity makes the pokemon meet, with a swipe and a cry, the battle is over.

“Miltank!” Jimmy yells, running to his pokemon before the dust even settles. Joel walks to them too, Axew jumping from Miltank’s stomach to the ground, its claws breaking into particles of lights, proudly looking at his trainer. “Oh my gosh, are you alright? Are you hurt?” Carelessly, Jimmy drops to his knees beside his friend, carefully lifting its head into his lap as he looks over it for any major injury. The scratches are superficial, there is dirt and pebbles in its fur, but nothing to worry about.

Joel picks up Axew, brushing up some dirt off its forehead with a proud smile that quickly turns into a smirk. “We showed them, didn’t we?”

“Axew!” It cheers.

“This one time!”

“And last time too, and the time before.” Joel huffs, looking up at his bestfriend pouting at him, Miltank slowly coming back to its senses. He rolls his eyes then sticks his tongue out at him. “Keep lying to yourself, Jimmy. We know I’m the stronger one.”

“Axew is! You’re just cocky and a prick! A bad friend too!”

Joel rolls his eyes again.

Once Miltank is fully recovered, rather than train again, the boys find shelter under the shade of a tree. Sweat covers their skin, making their hair stick to their foreheads. The sky is clear of clouds, the sun shining as bright as ever. Their pokemon lay down, making themselves comfortable on the grass besides them, rapidly falling into the slumber of naps that do sound tempting.

“Do you think this is Solgaleo or Groudon’s fault?” Jimmy asks, carefully draping over the side of Miltank’s back. He yawns, which makes Joel yawn too, both realizing that they are equally as tired as their pokemon. “The sun, I mean. It’s been so hot lately, surely something is going on.”

“Not like we can do anything about it,” Joel shrugs. He lays with his back on the grass, dropping an arm over his closed eyes. Although everything feels sticky, the sleepiness draws him stronger and he finds himself not caring about sweat.

“I mean,” Jimmy mumbles, already on the edge of drifting off, “maybe… when we’re older… we– catch… ‘em…”

_____

and this is axew! a cute pick

also, yeah, this au is mostly based on the anime rather than games or manga just to make it easier on me. next daily wont be pokemon au i promise x'D

#solidaritygaming #smallishbeans #day 49

8 notes · View notes

sargentcat · 6 months ago

Text

help me find a MHA fic pls

so im looking for a fanfic on ao3 but i cant find it i don't remember the name or the author but i remember izuku was immortal is very old and takes realy long naps in the dirt, usually in the forest he has ties with the bakugo family. he likes to garden he acts like an old grampa, and he lives in a cabin with eri on UA property.

please help me find this fic

#ao3 #mha fic #mha fanfiction #bnha fic #immortal midoriya #help me find this fic pls

2 notes · View notes

dirtbag-linecook-kyloren · 2 years ago

Text

Local dirt bag line cook returns with a bit from the kylux restaurant AU I”m working on. This is one of the like, softest things I’ve ever written because I’m working from the middle out with this Fic and it’s A Wild Experience even as someone who doesn’t write linearly.

“How on earth can you spend every day in the place your parents fell out of love?” he asks when it’s his turn. This is certainly the most touchy question they’ve asked so far, but he can only ask about gross habits and underwear pregerences for long before he goes numb in the brain. “It’s complicated,” Ben says, adjusting the flame of his burner and tossing whatever he’s cooking for them. Hux has recognized shallots and white wine, and it smells amazing, but he’s clueless beyond that. “On one hand, a direct line is drawn from [restaurant name] to my parent’s divorce. She sold dad her part of the business and washed her hands of it. But I also grew up in that building.” He pauses, opening the oven to check on something. Watching someone cook is an interesting experience, given that most of his diet is protein bars, meal replacement shakes, and whatever dead food gets set in the server alley. Cooking is far beyond Hux’s energy level, at this stage of his life. “The happy memories are there, too,” Ben continues as he idly stirs another pot. “The last months before their marriage fell apart, especially. Before mom went to manage one of my uncle’s restaurant so he could focus on the food, and not the paperwork.” “I still blows my mind that your uncle owns multiple Michelin star restaurants, and you chose to work at [Restaurant name],” Hux says, mostly because it’s true. Ben puts so much pride in his work, it’s hard to believe he wouldn’t thrive on the recognition there. For all the time Hux has spent at [restaurant name], he knows it’s near the bottom of the barrel, as far as fine dining is concerned. Barely a step about a chain steakhouse. Ben laughs. “He has an interesting managerial style. I worked a summer there, before I went to culinary school, but it wasn’t for me.” For a moment, Ben looks embarrassed. “I tried to set the place on fire, when I left, actually.” In shock, Hux spits out his sip of wine, covering his mouth and taking the towel Ben hands him. “It was just after my parents divorce, so there were some extenuating personal circumstances, but he still likes to remind me of it at Christmas. For a few years after, all he got me was a fire extinguisher.” “Ben Solo, aspiring arsonist,” Hux muses. “Why didn’t it work?” “Restaurants take fire suppression pretty seriously,” he answers. “Seventeen-year-old Ben didn’t remember that some of them trigger automatically at certain smoke levels.” “Still,” Hux continues, making sure to remember this piece of information for later, “those kind of connections could get you a job anywhere, right? Why stay here and work for your dad? Especially with how much you two argue?” With a shrug, Ben covers one pan and turns the heat off on another, grabbing his own glass of wine as he leans against the counter. As strange as this all is, from seeing the art on Ben’s walls to sitting at his island, sipping a glass of wine, it’s nice. There’s no fear settling into Hux’s shoulders, no tension in his spine. All of the anxiety he normally feels in social situations didn’t walk through the door with him, almost. It helps that outside the walls of [restaurant name], Ben seems more relaxed. His hair curls slightly from its place tucked behind his ear, and Hux wonders what it would feel like running through his fingers, brushing across his skin. “I could work at some place like that,” Ben agrees. “I would get too little pay for too much work, but it would be challenging. A creative exercise, I’m sure those sorts of cooks would say. “Or I could work in the same kitchen my mom taught me how to make cookies. When I was really little, I took naps in the office. After close, I would run around the dining room and one of the hosts would play hide-and-seek with me. At some point, I’ll have to do something else, but for now? How could I go anywhere else?” The timer Ben set starts beeping, then, and he moves a few deli containers of ingredients so he can set a trivet on the counter. “Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Hux asks one last time, and Ben gives him an entirely unimpressed look. “What do you think I’m making, right now?” With a blush rising along his cheek, Hux realizes that while he’s been watching Ben cook, he’s spent all that time looking at Ben, not the cooking. “I’m pretty sure there were shrimp, at some point,” he says, “and I watched you pour some of the wine in there, which seems like a waste.” “The real waste is that we’re drinking it,” Ben admits. “I don’t know anything about wine, I just found the Sauv Blanc with the coolest label.” They both look to the bottle on the counter, then, which features a strange logo and a flaming sword. “And no, I’ll pass on the help. I’m not prepared for all the things I’d need, to start from scratch on cooking knowledge.” He pauses. “I’ll need to change the batteries on my fire alarm, for one. Wouldn’t want you to try and emulate me.” Ben keeps talking, but Hux is staring at his hands. One is cupping his wine glass, and the other is resting on the counter, fingers splayed over the butcher block. The veins in his forearms flex as he gestures, and Hux thinks back to that girl on a date. Remembers Ben’s words, about how the time passed differently, when it was the right person on the other side of the table. Feels Ben’s kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Did I lose you?” Ben asks, moving to lean on the island. Hux can smell his shampoo from here, could reach out and grab Ben’s hand. For a moment, he considers being weak. Every change in their relationship, Ben initiated and Hux responded in turn. Even now, he’s following Ben’s lead, sitting where he’s told, waiting to be shown what the boundaries are and following them to perfection. He could keep following, let Ben lead in this dance and take direction. He reaches his hand across the cold surface of the island, lets his fingers brush Ben’s closed hands. They open as he does, and Hux slides their hands together, holds loosely so Ben has the chance to pull away. Ben stays right where he is, rubbing idle circles on the back of Hux’s hand with his thumb.

all of this is of course unedited and subject to change but I’m having so much fun writing this au. I think about it while I’m at work, at it’s been great for my morale. Nothing like portioning broccoli while trying to flesh out a scene. The playlist for this AU is also going to be massive I’ll post that out of the main ship tag but under the AU tag I’ve created for this blog, which is just the working title for the fic in scrivener. It’ll be #hands off hands out

since you stuck around here’s another little bit that ripped my heart out writing.

Hux is smoking the last cigarette of his break up pack when Ben comes outside. For a moment, he thinks Ben will just turn around and go back inside, that the awkwardness of the situation will stop him from staying. Instead, he lets the door close and lock behind them and stands in front of the bell. “I thought you quit,” Ben says, and Hux sighs. He’s only half way through this cigarette, but he puts it out anyway, throwing it into the sand bucket and cursing himself for his own pity purchase. “Times of stress can bring back bad habits. I’m sure I don’t have to explain that to you.” “If changing jobs is that stressful for you, maybe you should just stay here.” So that’s what this is about. Hux should have known Ben was too earnest, too open, to just let him disappear into the city and try to pretend he didn’t ruin this. Be couldn’t let him fall with grace, he had to push Hux on the way down. “I’ve had an open offer at the First Order for a few months, now. I just never had a reason to take it.” “And now you do?” A small, bitter laugh claws its way from his lips. Desperately, he wishes there was still a cigarette between his fingers, smoke filling his lungs. Anything to pull him out of this conversation for a moment. “Now I do,” Hux agrees. “The hours won’t be as good, with school, but I should only have to graduate a semester late. Nothing, in the grand scheme of my life.” “Or you could stay here,” Ben says, and there’s something in his voice, an emotion Hux can’t quite place. He would call it hopeful, but what would he have to hope? That he can stay here and continue to watch Ben fall apart? Watch the person he fell in love with continue to ignore him, treat the people around him like punching bags, fall into a pit of grief so deep that light won’t reach him at the bottom? “I can’t be here, be in love with you, and not have you. I’m changing the only one I have any control over, Ben. I can’t seem to stop loving you and you seemed pretty firm in your dismissal. So I can’t be here.” And like the coward he is, Hux stands, pushing his way past Ben and into the restaurant. He washes the nicotine off his hands like it’s evidence of a crime and reminds himself that there’s only three more shifts between himself and freedom. Ben isn’t even scheduled on his last shift. Two more days of the consequences of his fuck ups, and he can try to forget that he met the love of his life and absolutely fumbled his chance at happiness. He’ll graduate from school, wait different tables, and wonder for the rest of his life what might have been, if he’d just said yes the first time. If he’d let his feelings be more important than a job.

I’m really glad people seem to like this AU because it’s 100% part passion project and part that I’m so tired of restaurant AUs by people who’ve obviously never worked in a restaurant and are just enamored with the idea of them. I don’t want to hear about the food, that’s the least important part. I want to hear about the conversations between servers and cooks that have to pause every time food needs to be run and the hidden complaining in the walk in about whatever dumb change management has made and the heart breaking moment when you hear an 18 top walked in with no reservation. I want awkwardly placed burns and broken equipment but also the satisfaction of a smoothly run busy shift and the feeling of a new oven on the line.

(I have another AU in my head inspired by recent events where ben is a restaurant repair tech, following in hans footsteps, and hux is a tired GM who just wants his things to stop breaking. We’ve had lots of repair people in lately and one of them worked on my table two days in a row and it was so annoying I went from pantry one day to saute the next and he was there both days with my table torn apart and in my way as I’m trying to carrying a pot of boiling water to and from my range while it’s filled with also ten pounds of cavatappi.)

((This AU will have to wait until the first one is finished though.))

#kylux au #hands off hands out

30 notes · View notes

shallyne · 2 years ago

Text

SJM Romance Week Day One

Two Fates, One Day | Chapter 1

My fic for @sjmromanceweek edited by @midnightgoldstone (thank you so so so much ❤️)

Words: 1530

Elriel meets when they are out with their younger siblings! Pls be prepared: Roles are reversed to canon and age gaps are bigger!

TW: mention and implication of neglect

Elain promised her little sister to go to the playground with her. Even though Elain is thoroughly exhausted, she keeps to her promise. There she meets someone from school she rarely talks to, but has a big crush on

Elain was utterly exhausted as she walked down the street to the playground, Feyre holding her hand and babbling about her day in kindergarten. She just half-listened to her little sister, as exhausted as Elain was, it was hard to focus on both Feyre and their surroundings. The night before she was up until the early hours studying for a morning exam. She'd rather have gone home to take a nap but she had promised Feyre that they would go to the playground today and Elain couldn't deny her that. She behaved perfectly and she had problems making friends, so she wanted to take Feyre to the playground, in hope that she could make at least one friend. For the longest time it was beyond Elain why everyone seemed to avoid her little sister until she saw a group of mothers whispering when she helped Feyre put on her jacket. It dawned on her that Elain was the problem - they thought she was a teen mom. Luckily, Feyre didn't realize how they whispered or how they pulled their kids away from them, she was still excited to go there.

Elain and Feyre walked down a short dirt path that led to the playground. Elain tightened the hair tie on Feyres' braid again and then told her she could go play but she grabbed the hem of Elain's cardigan. "Feyre, what's going on?" she asked, worried. "You were so excited." Feyre just shrugged and looked to the ground.

Elain forced a smile on her face and said, "How about you go play and we get ice cream after?"

"I don't want ice cream," Feyre said. Elain put a hand on Feyre's forehead but her temperature seemed normal. She also didn't seem to be sick. Usually Feyre loved ice cream, that's how Elain got her to eat her vegetables. "Feyre." Elain said softly.

"Last time a boy told me that my shoes were ugly," she said quietly and looked away. Elains gaze wandered to her sister's shoes. They were quite old but they were still intact and they were far from ugly. "Then that boy is stupid!" Elain said annoyed, not at her sister but at the boy. "Your shoes are really pretty, I wish I could wear them."

"Really?" Feyre asked. Elain nodded. "You're lucky that they aren't my size or I would steal them from you!"

Feyre giggled and threw her arms around Elain, who kissed the top of her sisters head and said, "You go play and when you want to go, we go." Feyre nodded, "Okay." She smiled and turned around, hurrying to the swingset.

Elain sat down on the bench that was nearest to the swing, keeping an eye on Feyre. A few minutes later she was digging through her bag, looking for her water bottle. She knew that Feyre would be thirsty when she came back. As she did so, someone behind her cleared his throat and she turned her head. Oh God was her only thought when she looked into beautiful hazel eyes. There stood Azriel, a guy she knew from her high school. They shared some classes and got into short conversations from time to time. She was glad that they were short or else Azriel would know without a doubt that she had a crush on him.

"Azriel!" she smiled. "What are you doing here?"

A faint smile bloomed on his mouth and he nodded to the slide on the other side of the playground. "I'm babysitting my brother today," he said. "It looks like you're doing the same with your sister."

Elain only nodded and slid to the side to make room for Azriel and the bench. She wouldn't explain now that she was the only one who took care of Feyre. After their parents died, Elain and Nesta took on the role, but then Nesta went to college and that left only Feyre and herself. "What a coincidence," Elain only said.

Azriel sat down and looked around for his brother, Elain did the same and looked at Feyre. She sat on a swing but she wasn't swinging, a little boy around her age was standing with her. "Is that your brother?" Elain asked Azriel. He looked at her, in the direction she pointed. He smiled and nodded "Yes, that's him. He can talk a lot, I'll get him-"

"No," Elain said, catching his arm when Azriel leaned forward to stand up. "Don't, she looks happy."

He leaned back again and his eyes wandered to where her hand still rested on his arms. She quickly pulled away, pretty sure that a blush crept onto her cheeks she avoided any eye contact.

"They both look happy." Azriel said. Elain watched the kids as Azriel’s brother said something to Feyre and she giggled. "They do," she agreed. "Do you -" she turned back to Azriel and cleared her throat. *Do you think we could do this again? I mean, for the kids. Feyre doesn't have many friends and she seems to have fun with him."

Azriel looked at her for a moment until he nodded. "Yes, sure. Rhys will be excited," he said and took his phone out of his pocket. Elain followed the movement of his fingers with her eyes as he typed in something and then held his phone out to her, "You can give me your number and we can stay in contact."

Elain smiled and took his phone, typing in her number. As she gave his phone back, their fingers brushed for a quick moment. She let her hair fall in front of her face, hoping he couldn't see her blush. Just when she was about to turn back, Feyre came running back. She held onto Elain's leg as she tried to catch her breath. "Hey," Elain smiled. "You look like you had fun." Feyre threw her a bright smile and nodded, "I made a friend!"

"You made a friend!" Elain said excitedly and pulled her little sister into a hug. She picked her up and sat Feyre on her lap as she looked for the water again. As she did that, her gaze wandered to Azriel and his brother, the boy wildly gesturing with his arms as he told Azriel how far he pushed Feyre on the swing. Elain gave Feyre the bottle and she took a little sip, then leaned her head against Elains shoulder. She was exhausted. Tired. Elain already knew the signs, could tell if she was tired or hungry or had to pee by how Feyre acted. "Are you tired?" Elain asked and to her surprise, Feyre nodded. Elain smiled at Azriel apologetically as she stood up, carrying Feyre. "We'll have to go home now, she's tired."

Azriel smiled, "Of course. It was nice to meet you."

Elain opened her mouth to say goodbye but Azriel's brother, Rhys, jumped up. "No!" he said. "Wait!"

"Rhys." Azriel warned but the boy ran to Elain. "Don't go!"

Elain crouched down, to be at eye level with him. So he'd be at eye level with Feyre. "It's not goodbye forever, you can play again! You wouldn't want to play when you're tired, right?"

He shook his head. "No." Elain nodded. "Exactly, so Feyre sleeps and you can play again another time."

The boys scratched his head and his striking blue eyes wandered from Feyre to Elain. His brows furrowed and he asked, "You promise?"

"I promise!" Elain said. Rhys turned around to Azriel and waited. "I promise," Azriel echoed. That seemed to relax him and he nodded, still in thought until Feyre reached out her arm towards him. He hurried to her and threw his arms around Feyre. "Goodbye Feyre!"

Feyre muttered something that sounded like a tired "Bye Rhys."

Elain stood up and nodded to Azriel. "I'll see you," she said and walked from the playground. She adjusted Feyre on her hip and her bag on the other shoulder.

When they arrived in their little apartment, Elain made a quick job of changing Feyre's clothes and putting her down for a nap. She was so exhausted that she was asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow.

Exhausted herself, Elain wandered to the couch. She walked past the fridge and though her stomach grumbled, she didn't bother looking inside, knowing that she'd find it empty. She let herself fall on the old leather and groaned. She wished she wouldn't have told Nesta to go to college, that Elain would be fine, that she could take care of Feyre alone, but Elain had said it. Said it because she was scared of the alternative: asking Nesta to stay and she'd go either way. So Elain ignored the fact that the outcome would have been the same, dreaming about a different life. Hope.

She sighed and picked up her phone when it vibrated, reading the message of an unknown number.

>> Hi, it's Azriel. I know the message comes pretty quick but I wanted to ask if you want to come over on Saturday. Rhys is already asking non-stop about your sister

Another message

>> & I'd like to see you again

She smiled. Elain was a big fan of hope.

52 notes · View notes

residents-of-the-darkforest · 2 years ago

Text

First Place (short story)

“Martenstep! Nettledeer! Wait up!” Furzeflower called out, panting as he struggled to catch up to his friends.

Nettledeer simply smirked at Furzeflower as he bounded over the crudely drawn line in the dirt. “Last place again? You really need to step up your game.” he gloated playfully.

Martenstep simply rolled his eyes and cuffed Nettledeer on the ear, earning a yelp from the yellow and brown tom. “Come on, Nettie, go easy on the guy.” Martenstep chided Nettledeer. “Furzeflower’s older than us, and he’s put on a lot of weight lately.”

Furzeflower blushed and looked down at his rounded stomach. He had been growing plumper as of late, but he didn’t think he was getting fat enough for his friends to notice. And it wasn’t like he had been eating more than usual lately either. Come to think of it, he had only started putting on the weight just three moons ago, after his… encounter… with Webstripe…

Furzeflower flinched and shoved down the memories of the silvery-white tabby tom away. No use thinking about him. It was a one-time thing and a one-time thing only.

Nettledeer looked at Furzeflower guiltily. “Sorry, Furzeflower.” he apologized shamefully.

“You’re fine.” Furzeflower chuckled.

Martenstep smiled. “Let’s go, shall we?”

Nettledeer nodded, and the two turned around and began to bound back to their dens. Furzeflower turned to follow them… but then he felt a sharp pain lance through his stomach. A grunt of surprise escaped his mouth.

“…Furzeflower? Are you alright?” Martenstep called out, craning his head to look back at his friend with concern.

“I’m fi-” Furzeflower attempted to reassure Martenstep, but he was cut of by another lancing pain in his stomach, this one strong enough to make him dig his claws into the dirt to keep himself from falling over.

“Furzeflower!” Martenstep bounded over, Nettledeer closely behind him. Both cats’ eyes were rounded with worry.

“I-” Furzeflower once again tried to comfort his friends, but yet another lancing pain shot its way through his stomach. This one was the strongest one yet, and he collapsed on his side with a yowl of pain. From there, the lancing pains became more and more rapid, and all he could do was stare up at Martenstep and Nettledeer in pure terror. They were now talking to each other, but the pain was so strong was that he could barely hear them.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“What else could it be, you mousebrain?”

“But he’s so ol-”

“THAT DOESN’T MATTER RIGHT NOW! We need to find Myrtlewing, NOW!”

That was the last thing Furzeflower heard before he blacked out.

~~~~

“See, guys? I told you he’d be fine! It’s amazing what our bodies can do, really… Oh! Looks like he’s coming to!”

Furzeflower slowly came to, blinking his eyes groggily and looking up as his vision unblurred. Five cats were surrounding him - Martenstep, Nettledeer, Cloverfox, Clawbear, and in the center of them all, Myrtlewing. Furzeflower’s friends looked at him with a mix of emotions clouding their eyes, while Myrtlewing simply smirked at him knowingly.

“Furzeflower! You’re alright!” Cloverfox cried out, surging towards him and licking the top of his forehead. Furzeflower simply took it with confusion.

“Hello, Furzeflower.” Myrtlewing greeted, his disembodied head swaying back and forth. “Did you have a nice nap?” he joked, exposing sharp, bloodstained teeth. Martenstep cuffed the medicine cat on the ear, while Clawbear tried his best to stifle a loud laugh and failed miserably.

“What… happened…?” Furzeflower slurred, looking back and forth in a daze while letting his senses come back to him. His insides felt like they had been torn into shreds, and he could smell… milk??? Where was that coming from?

“You started complaining of stomach pains and blacked out after our race.” Martenstep explained gently, curling his tail around his paws as he did so. “Nettledeer and I brought you to Myrtlewing’s den, and Cloverfox and Clawbear joined when they heard what was happening.”

“I just wanted to play with the kits.” Clawbear pouted, exposing his massive front teeth as he did so. Nettledeer swatted his ear gently.

Wait… did Clawbear just say… kits?!

Furzeflower suddenly registered the tiny mewling of kits and the kneading of tiny paws at his belly. He shifted his body upwards, trying his best to ignore the storm of pain that overtook his body as he did so, and looked down at his belly

What he saw made his heart explode.

Three kits were nestled snugly at his belly, suckling furiously and occasionally squeaking and shoving each other out of the way. There was a dark brown kit with a black stripe running down its back, black paws, and a black tail, a light gray tabby kit, and a ginger and white kit. Tiny, perfect, and undeniably his.

“Congratulations, Furzeflower.” Myrtlewing announced with a giggle. “You’re a father now.”

Furzeflower almost wanted to laugh. It was so painfully obvious in hindsight. But he couldn’t force a single sound to come out of his mouth. All he could do was stare down at his children - his children! - with his mouth agape and his heart threatening to burst.

“I know that feeling well.” Cloverfox chuckled, rubbing her cheek against Furzeflower’s with a loud purr. “I felt exactly the same when I had my little ones.” She looked away, the sadness of memories long passed clouding her eyes.

“I… I…” Furzeflower was at a complete and total loss for words. He instead chose to lean down and run his tongue over his kits. They stilled briefly as the bristles of his tongue touched their fur, before returning to suckling at a much slower and calmer pace, the feeling of their father’s tongue clearly having a comforting effect on them. Once again, his heart nearly threatened to burst.

“Gotta say,” Nettledeer broke the silence, “I wasn’t expecting you to hook up with Webstripe, of all cats.” he chuckled.

Furzeflower finally tore his gaze away from his kits to stare up at Nettledeer with shock. “Wha- how- no- you-” he stammered, his face flushing red. Nettledeer and Clawbear simply snickered.

“It’s kind of obvious.” Martenstep admitted. “The tabby looks just like him, just a darker shade of gray.” Cloverfox nodded in agreement.

Furzeflower looked down at his kits again. Martenstep was right - the tabby’s stripes looked exactly like Webstripe’s. Furzeflower wasn’t going to let that bother him, though. He’d love his children until the day he faded, no matter what or who they looked like.

“Got any ideas for names?” Myrtlewing asked. “If it helps, the brown one and the gray tabby one are toms, and the ginger and white one is a she-cat.”

Two sons and a daughter. It took all of Furzeflower’s energy to not burst into tears of joy right there and then. He looked down at his kits again, then back up at Myrtlewing. “I have the perfect names.” he announced pridefully.

Truth be told, he had been preparing for this day since before he had even died. He’d never thought he’d be able to get to use the names he had spent so long planning. His friends’ ears perked up in curiosity.

Furzeflower looked down at his kits. “Birchkit,” he announced, running his tongue over the brown and black tom, who purred and snuggled up closer to his father’s belly. “Smokekit”, he continued, running his tongue over the light gray tabby tom, who squeaked in protest. “And Foxkit.” he finished, running his tongue over the ginger and white tabby she-cat, who slapped his belly with her paw in retaliation.

“After me?” Cloverfox gasped, blushing furiously. “Furzeflower, you shouldn’t have!” Furzeflower only had the strength to lightly bat at his friend with a playful purr.

“Great names!” Myrtlewing complimented Furzeflower, before turning to the other four cats. “Now, I think you should probably leave. It’s getting crowded in here, and I think you all should give Furzeflower some privacy. He’s had a long day, after all.”

“No fair!” Clawbear complained with another massive pout. Cloverfox simply chuckled and led the large brown tabby tom out of the den, Martenstep following them shortly after.

Nettledeer started to follow them, but Furzeflower interrupted him. “Nettledeer?” he called out.

Nettledeer turned to look at his friend curiously.

“I may have come last place in our race,” Furzeflower laughed, “but I definitely came first place overall.” He shifted his paw, accidentally brushing up against Birchkit’s ear, who began to wail loudly. Furzeflower immediately pulled his son closer to him and began to lick him, whispering words of comfort as he did so.

Nettledeer watched the scene unfold in front of him and chuckled. “You certainly did, buddy.” he laughed, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he called out before slinking out of the den.

Furzeflower’s mind was still spinning at a million miles per hour, but he continued to focus on consoling Birchkit, exhaling with relief as the little brown and black tom relaxed, dozing off in between his father’s paws.

With a chuckle, Furzeflower picked up Smokekit and Barkkit and gently placed them next to their brother, cradling all three of his children in his paws. As he watched them snooze gently, his heart threatened to burst wide open for what felt like the millionth time that day. He ran his tongue over the kits one more time. “Good night, my little champions.” he murmured softly, before lowering his head and drifting off to sleep, happier than he had been in moons.

Notes:

-Made Clawbear the fifth member of the friend group because I think he deserves more love and also because I can

-Foxkit’s prefix being the same as Cloverfox’s suffix was a giant coincidence! I imagine these were names for kits Furzeflower came up with with either Firetooth or Spottedbark, back when he was still alive, ofc :3

-Hopefully I got all of their personalities right!

========================

ASDFKKJASDF;DLKASDFGFDSLDKJHJLHGFDSDFLGJHGJFDKSL

okay now that my feelings are out of the way, the reviews:

--SO FRICKEN CUTE

--Aw Cloverfox

--Myrtle’s evil and professional personalities were perfectly shown and balanced here!

--Damn, Furze was unconscious while giving birth? Lucky son of a b

--I imagine Smoke, as stated, has the exact same stripes as Webstripe and the only difference is there’s some more spots (and/or maybe some of the stripes are broken up into pieces?)

--Myrtle waving his head like a Jack-in-The-Box

--Claw’s gonna be SUCH a fun uncle when the kits are old enough

--Got more feelings to express. Hang on,

asldfkjahsdfg;fdlkjhasdglfdksjhjdkflgfdksjhdjfkglkdjhsghghjdkgasdfsasdhgflkjhgfghjskdflksjahsdjfklldskjhjk asldfkjahsdfg;fdlkjhasdglfdksjhjdkflgfdksjhdjfkglkdjhsghghjdkgasdfsasdhgfaslkjhgfdddfgfdsasdfghjkllkjhgf asldfkjahsdfg;fdlkjhasdglfdksjhjdkflgfdksjhdjfkglkdjhsghghjdkgasdfsasdhgfasdfgfdasdfsslkjhghjllkjhgsdfglf asldfkjahsdfg;fdlkjhasdglfdksjhjdkflgfdksjhdjfkglkdjhsghghjdkgasdfsasdhgffghjklkjhgffffghejrehgahjkkjmn asldfkjahsdfg;fdlkjhasdglfdksjhjdkflgfdksjhdjfkglkdjhsghghjdkgasdfsasdhgfmnbvcbnmskdfhjkjyuiopihksjhs asldfkjahsdfg;fdlkjhasdglfdksjhjdkflgfdksjhdjfkglkdjhs

3 notes · View notes